


lead me out on the moonlit floor

by scrunchyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Christmas, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rich Louis, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrunchyharry/pseuds/scrunchyharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In all honesty, Harry was long forgotten, cast aside by a dimpled stranger and too much champagne. He was almost glad, now, that Harry hadn’t come, because he wouldn’t have met this stranger, this tall man who could make his heart flutter with a single glance.</i> </p><p>Victorian!AU where Louis is a wealthy lord throwing a masquerade ball for his birthday and Harry is a toymaker who's only confident when he's wearing a mask.</p><p>Written for <a href="http://karukara.tumblr.com/post/99567985764/larry-writing">karukara's contest</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lead me out on the moonlit floor

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [lead me out on the moonlit floor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9400175) by [Rosa_Mystica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Mystica/pseuds/Rosa_Mystica)



> We've wanted to do something Victorian for months, but couldn't agree; one of us wanted something dark and gloomy, like Poe or Shelley, while the other was really into Dickens' Christmas stories. Fast-forward to this summer when we visited the Museum of London and got very inspired by the Victorian London section and the idea of a rich!Louis shopping for toys and flirting with toymaker!Harry was born. Another fast-forward to October and karukara's contest, and we had our story.
> 
> The Earl of Doncaster is a real thing that really exists, but if you can navigate the [Wikipedia page](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duke_of_Buccleuch) and understand how it works, congrats. We feel like we'd need a PhD in peerage to get it.
> 
> I know we're only in November, but work with us.

Snow swirled outside the window, carried by great gusts of cold wind, and glistened in the orange glow of the streetlamps as Harry rearranged the shop front, moving toys around in order to create what he hoped would look like a whimsical, festive display. He moved a puppet from where it sat on top of a jack-in-a-box and instead placed it next to a wooden toy train, frowning in discontent. It was not right and he couldn’t find what was wrong with the scene. He had tried placing the dolls, both the rag ones and the porcelain ones, around a table to mimic teatime, but that had looked absurd, the ragdolls slumping to the side and looking quite improper. On the other hand, the stuffed animals could not take their place; who had ever heard of two different ranks of society having tea together? Absurd. Completely absurd.

Sighing, Harry hurried outside to have a look at the display from the street. He wrapped his arms around himself and jumped from one foot to the other as he gazed at his creation, cocking his head this way and that, squinting, sighing again. It would not do. In the distance, the bells of the nearest church chimed five times and Harry’s stomach gave a growl. He had skipped tea to concentrate on the shop front and he was beginning to regret it.

Checking left and right rapidly, Harry crossed the street, waving at a newsboy. It always broke Harry’s heart to see him, this wisp of a boy, no more than eight, selling his newspaper in the biting cold of winter with nothing but a threadbare coat and a flimsy scarf to keep him warm. As he turned back towards his shop, he made a note to bring the boy a scarf the next day. 

The candles he had lit twinkled through the glass panes and in the twilight, Harry noted happily, they looked like stars. The distance allowed him a better perspective and he decided that the toys should all be white and that a black cloth should hang behind the scene, to match the candle-stars. Pleased by his conclusion, Harry walked briskly back to the shop as a great shiver shook him. In his haste, he failed to notice the ice underfoot and before he could realise what had happened, he was sitting in the slush ice in the middle of the street, the cold icy water seeping through the wool of his trousers.

A crystalline laugh made him turn his head rapidly and his eyes fell on a familiar figure, laughing brightly a few paces away. Lord Tomlinson, in his black frock and top hat, was covering his mouth with his gloved hand and there was no mistaking it: he was laughing at Harry’s predicament. On each side of him identical twins, disappearing under the layers of furs and wool they were wearing, were giggling merrily.

Getting back up, Harry wiped the back of his trousers the best he could and returned to his shop, his eyebrows furrowed. “My lord, my ladies” he said politely, bowing his head as he passed the lord, his cheeks red from more than the cold.

Of all the people who might have seen him fall on his arse in the snow, it had to be Lord Tomlinson. He should move to another country and change his name to try and survive the shame of his situation. The bells above the door jingled and Harry did not have to turn around to know who had entered. He stepped behind the counter, pulling discreetly at his damp trousers, before giving the approximation of a smile to his customer.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” he said, bowing his head once more. “Lady Daisy, Lady Phoebe.”

The lord smiled, taking off his hat. “Good afternoon, Mr Styles. We will have a look around.”

“As you please, my lord.”

It had been the same every week for the past months: Lord Tomlinson and his twin sisters would come once a week and purchase the latest toys they had received or created, to the twins’ delight. Harry had taken the habit of putting aside the choicest ones and looked forward to seeing the smiles on the girls’ faces when he showed them the wonders he kept for them behind the counter. That is, he did when his arse wasn’t wet.

What he enjoyed most, though, was to see Lord Tomlinson. He had grown fond of the man, despite his cold, distant manners. The twinkle in his eye or the sudden, uncontrolled smiles he would sometimes show made Harry’s stomach loop and his heart beat faster to have broken through the façade of, quite possibly, the most beautiful man he had ever seen. He knew barely anything about him: his father sat in the House of Lords, although his importance was unknown to Harry, he liked his tea with nothing in it and his favourite biscuits were gingersnaps; he liked to wear colourful ascots and waistcoats and his favourite top hat had a red lining, and Harry was desperately infatuated with him.

This feeling kept him awake at night, twisting his thoughts into forbidden dreams, the kind that made him grip his sheets and writhe under the duvet, shame and lust overpowering him as the memories of Lord Tomlinson’s smile, eyes and voice filled his mind.

One of the twins knocked over a pile of cubes and it brought Harry back to reality. He blinked and smiled, in case they were looking at him. He could offer them tea, he thought, taking a deep, steadying breath and peeling his eyes away from Lord Tomlinson’s rosy cheeks. When he talked to him, he kept his eyes on the snowflakes melting on the shoulders of his black frock.

“May I offer you tea, my lord? Or biscuits, perhaps? The weather is dreary today.”

“No, don’t trouble yourself for us, Mr Styles. We are quite all right,” the lord replied pleasantly.

“No, no, I insist. I won’t be long.” Harry ran to the back of the shop, opening the door that led from it to his house roughly and startling his sister. “Gemma, dear, can you prepare a plate of biscuits? The Tomlinsons are there,” he said hurriedly, already stalking to his room to change his trousers.

He returned minutes later with Gemma on his heels after she insisted she wanted to meet them. The going was slower, her pregnancy making her less agile at avoiding the many boxes cluttering the back of the shop. When they returned to the shop, he saw that the lord was crouching by his sisters, listening with rapt attention to the tale they were telling, smiling softly. Harry filed the memory of this smile along with the others he already had, flushing slightly.

Upon hearing them, the lord straightened up, picking up his hat from the small rocking chair he had left it on and walking over to the counter. “You really shouldn’t have,” he insisted again, looking at Harry, then at Gemma. His smile faded.

“Gingersnaps,” Harry said, pushing the plate towards the lord across the counter. “Fresh out of the oven.”

The lord smiled again and came nearer, taking one and biting it primly. “Thank you, sir.” His eyes darted once more to Gemma, this time falling on her swollen belly. His smile tightened and he coughed. “You changed your trousers,” he commented.

“I did,” Harry said, uneasy. “They were damp because of… well, you saw my misfortune.”

“It was hard to miss,” the lord said, the shadow of a smirk appearing on his face. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”

“Only my pride, my lord. If you would be so kind as to forget that you saw me fall, I should be forever grateful.”

“I don’t think I can, sir.” The lord let out a small laugh, his eyes twinkling. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. “It was quite entertaining.”

“Oh, well… I’m glad I could entertain you, my lord,” Harry said, uncertain. He cast a glance at Gemma, but she was pretending not to hear the conversation. “May I be of help in any other way?”

The lord shook his head, smiling almost mischievously. “Not unless you fancy getting another pair of trousers wet.”

“Not particularly, my lord,” Harry replied, frowning slightly.

A giggle left the lord’s lips and he did not even try to hide it, instead taking another biscuit from the plate.

Abandoning the puppet they were playing with, the twins approached curiously, lured by the promise of warm biscuits. Lady Phoebe (she always wore a blue coat, her sister a green one) looked at Gemma curiously for a moment, nibbling at her biscuit. Crumbs were falling on the front of her coat, but she did not seem to notice, or care.

“You have a lovely wife, Mr Styles,” she finally said timidly, standing on one foot and twisting the other one against the floor.

Gemma burst out laughing, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. Harry shot her a dark look, worried that she had insulted their guests.

“Mrs Twist is my sister, my lady. She is visiting us for the month. But you are right, she is quite lovely.” Harry smiled at his sister before he risked a glance at the lord. He looked relieved, probably that his own sister had navigated this conversation without insulting Harry.

“Don’t ask so many question,” he reprimanded her, but there was no heat behind it. 

Harry coughed, remembering his manners. “Lord Tomlinson, may I introduce my sister, Mrs Gemma Twist.”

Gemma bowed. “I am happy to make your acquaintance.

Lord Tomlinson took her hand, kissing it politely. “The pleasure is mine. London is beautiful at this time of the year, I hope you will have a pleasant stay.”

“It is, isn’t it? The snow always seems to wash away the soot and grime,” Gemma said. “I have always loved how it makes London look pure, almost.”

“Today is a particularly beautiful day, in my opinion,” the lord said, looking at Harry and giving him a lopsided smile when their eyes met. “But as much as I enjoy the snow, I do hope the sun will come out for my birthday. We are having a masquerade, but I am sure you have heard about it. It seems to be the event of the season, for some incomprehensible reason.”

“A masquerade on Christmas Eve, my lord, it’s only natural that people will talk,” Gemma commented, laughing politely.

“I would have had a masquerade for my birthday even if it had been on another day. Sadly for me, it happens to fall on another, more important holiday.”

“I am sure you will get the weather you hope for, my lord. Especially on your birthday, you deserve whatever you desire,” Harry said, smiling.

“If only everyone thought like you, Mr Styles, but sadly my birthday is only secondary to Christmas Eve.”

Gemma looked between the two of them and then gave Harry a knowing smile. “If you will excuse me, my lord, I will leave you with my brother. You are in good hands.”

“I know,” the lord replied, taking another biscuit and biting it daintily, his eyes on Harry.

Harry watched Gemma leave, making sure she was all right before he turned to the lord again. He bowed his head, shy, when he caught the lord’s eyes on him. Taking a deep breath to regain his composure, Harry straightened his back.

“I will go fetch our latest arrivals, I am sure your sisters will love them.”

“I am sure, too, you have impeccable taste when it comes to them,” the lord said and Harry hurried to the back of the shop before he was seen blushing.

Taking two large rectangular boxes carefully, he brought them back to the front, placing them on the counter after moving the now empty plate out of the way. He untied the ribbons closing them, seeing out of the corner of his eye the lord getting closer. His fingers turned clumsy.

“We received them from France last week. They’re made of Limoges porcelain,” Harry explained as he took the doll out of the box, rearranging its blonde curls and the frills of its skirt before offering it to the lord for inspection. “We can also personalise them. I… we have the material to make them look however the client might want,” he explained while he unpacked a brown-haired one.

The lord nodded, turning the doll over in his hands, softly flattening its skirt where the box had wrinkled it. “Daisy, Phoebe, come here,” he called, lowering the doll to show them. “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Daisy took the doll from his hands and the two sisters began looking at it with interest, ignoring their brother for a moment. He turned to Harry, smiling.

“I think we’ll take two,” the lord said. “They seem to like the blonde, but personally I prefer brown curls and green eyes.” He smiled at Harry.

Harry nearly dropped the doll, placing it on the counter before he did drop it. He cleared his throat, trying his best to ignore his flustered cheeks. “We—we could make them look like them.”

The lord perked up. “Could you? They’d love it.”

“I could try. I do hope they don’t have the same eyes as you, my lord, because I don’t think I can make such a beautiful shade of blue with my paints,” Harry said, his hands shaking. He watched the lord closely, praying that his comment had sounded inconspicuous enough to appear innocent.

To Harry’s surprise, the lord flushed, letting out a small laugh. “Oh, hum, I’m flattered, but their eyes are darker than mine. Are you in the habit of noticing your clients’ eyes, sir?” He was turning his hat between his hands.

“Yours are quite noticeable, my lord,” Harry replied, swallowing thickly. “With all due respect.”

The lord chuckled, shaking his head. “I do not think it appropriate to talk about my eyes when you call me ‘my lord’.”

Harry felt his heart sink as the blood drained from his face. “I am sorry, my lord, that I stepped over a line. I will… let us talk business only, it would be preferable.”

Shaking his head, the lord continued turning his hat. “I meant that I have a first name.”

With a jolt of surprise, Harry shook his head. “I couldn’t, my lord. It isn’t proper.”

“Do you even know my name, sir? I come here every week and I don’t think you even know my name.” The lord sounded sad and Harry’s heart tightened with empathy.

“I’m afraid I don’t, my lord,” Harry replied, his voice small.

The lord nodded, frowning. “People usually don’t, no. It’s Louis.”

“Lord Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said, trying out his name. 

“My mother is Belgian,” Louis added, almost self-consciously. “It explains the French name. My two oldest sisters are called Charlotte and Félicité,” he continued, looking – of all things – nervous.

“The twins are the odd ones, then, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I suppose they are. Call me Louis, please, I insist.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest, trying to remember the little he knew about etiquette and proper behaviour. He could remember something about the correct names to use and what to do when consent was given, but he couldn’t remember to which names that applied and how that played out across social classes, and Louis was looking at him with increasing curiosity, his head cocked to the side, squinting slightly.

“If you insist, I suppose…” Harry trailed off, extending his hand. “I’m Harry.”

With a bright smile, the lor—Louis shook his hand. “Hi Harry, I’m Louis. At last, a proper introduction.”

Unable to stop the giggle that slipped out of his lips, Harry shrugged. “It only took us four months.”

“Or sixteen meetings. Unbelievable, Harry. We’re unbelievable.”

Still holding Louis’ hand, Harry tightened his grip on it and the tip of his fingers brushed over a sliver of bare skin between Louis’ glove and the cuff of his shirt. The contact of skin on skin sent a shiver up Harry’s spine and flushed his cheeks, making him withdraw his hand rapidly. Louis did the same and spent a moment staring at his hand like he had never seen it before.

His heart fluttering from the contact and the memory of Louis’ warm skin under his fingers, Harry bit his lip, bowing his head. Remembering that Louis wanted to order dolls, he tried to open the drawer with the proper paperwork in it, struggling with it as it jammed the way it always did. Harry let out a small yelp of surprise when it finally opened, taking out the sheets and placing them on the counter.

“We were saying, my lord?” His hands were shaking as he flattened the sheets on the scratched wood of the countertop and he searched around the mess of toy parts and painting brushes for a quill. 

“’We were saying, _Louis_ ’, please. You were talking about my eyes.”

“Oh, hum, yes, they’re… blue.” Harry could hardly think straight after having touched Louis’ skin, his thoughts running in circle, making him dizzy. He braced himself on the counter.

“And yours are green,” Louis continued. “We’ll take one with green eyes. A doll, I mean. One with green eyes and brown curls.”

“Oh, but your sisters aren’t… I thought you wanted them to look like your sisters, my—Louis,” Harry said, correcting himself at the last second.

“I did, but I am also quite fond of green eyes.” Looking down at the papers Harry was still flattening, stroking them compulsively more than anything, Louis hummed. “How much do I owe you, then? For two personalised dolls?”

Scribbling calculations quickly, Harry circled the amount. “It’s more expensive for personalisation.”

“Naturally,” Louis said, taking money out of his frock’s inner pocket. He placed the right amount in Harry’s hand, letting his gloved fingers brush against Harry’s palm. “Do you think you could have them ready for Christmas? They’d make wonderful presents for the girls.”

“I’ll see what I can do, my—Louis,” Harry replied, pocketing the money with a shaking hand. “I could have them delivered to your house, if you wish. It would leave me more time to finish them and wouldn’t impede on your birthday festivities.”

“It would be lovely, yes. Not that it matters much that it is my birthday when there is Christmas the next day.”

“I still think you deserve to have the whole day in your honour,” Harry said, keeping his eyes glued to the page where he was writing the details of the transaction. He chanced a glance at Louis and saw him smiling, his cheeks tinted pink.

“I’m afraid I can’t afford that luxury.”

“I didn’t know there were things you couldn’t afford,” Harry risked saying, signing the last sheet before moving them towards Louis so he could sign. “I’m sorry, it was out of line,” he added, having second thoughts about his bravery.

“No offence taken,” Louis said lightly, waving the quill around dismissively before signing. “I just can’t make the ball about myself only. My father sees it as an opportunity to have more supporters and my mother wants to show that we are still a powerful family. And, well… honestly, I only want my sisters to have a good Christmas.”

Harry frowned, touched by Louis’ frankness. “It makes me sad to hear it.”

Louis smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. It is nothing, really. And your dolls will give my sister a wonderful Christmas,” he said, looking over to the girls with fond eyes.

“But still, you must be looking forward to the ball… you said it was a masquerade?” Harry asked, fiddling mindlessly with a bit of string he found on the counter.

“Oh yes, I really am. It will be a great night. My mother insists I might meet someone special, she made sure to invite every eligible heiress of the country, it would seem.”

A stab of jealousy went through Harry’s heart and he coughed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I am sure you will, you must be quite popular. You’re charming and… and quite handsome.”

Louis shrugged, beginning once more to turn his hat in his hands. “I’m popular because I will one day be the Earl of Doncaster. It is all they care about.”

Harry paled and he involuntarily took a step back. “An earl? I can’t call you by your name, my lord. It is awfully disrespectful. I’m sorry that I did, I should have known better. I’m only a toymaker, I have no right—”

“No, please, Harry, I insist. No one ever calls me by my name. I would love it if you would.” Louis shrugged once more. “I would be honoured if you’d consider me a friend. I think we could say that we are, do you agree?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. Without even considering what it would mean for his social standing if he counted a future earl amongst his friends, Harry wondered whether it would be a good idea to let Louis into his life in this way. Surely, being friends was innocent enough that nothing bad could come of it, but at the same time, could he be trusted if he were to see Louis in contexts different than the one they were used to? What exactly did being friends with a lord entail? Would Harry be invited to tea with lords and dukes? Or would they all see him as a status-hungry socialite and stay away?

Harry smiled. “I should love to call you a friend,” he finally said, won over by the genuine look of worry on Louis’ face as he waited for his answer.

Louis visibly calmed down and he smiled, too, big enough for his eyes to crinkle. Harry’s stomach looped at the sight. “You do me a great honour, Harry.” Taking his fob watch out of his pocket, Louis checked the time, frowning when he read it. “We should leave. Regarding the dolls, could you deliver them on the 24th? There will be a lot of coming and going throughout the day because of the masquerade; no one should bother you if you enter the house. The guests are expected to arrive around eight o’clock in the evening, wearing masks and evening dress. It is a ball, after all.” He let out a small laugh, like bells chiming, before turning to the twins. “Come, girls, we must leave. Mama is waiting for us.”

Harry watched them leave in silence, letting out a breath of relief that was cut short when the door reopened, the sudden gust of wind making the lights flicker, and Louis peeked inside. 

“Your display in the shop front should be in all in white with maybe a dark cloth in the background to make it look like a starry sky? I think you were trying to figure out what was missing earlier, so…” He let out a laugh, shaking the snow off his top hat. “Good evening, Harry.”

“Good evening, Louis,” Harry said, sitting down once he was gone.

He rubbed his hands down his face and let out a disbelieving laugh before running to the back and through the door to his house, stopping in the doorway and grinning at Gemma.

“I think I’ve just been invited to a masquerade for the birthday of a future earl.”

Gemma dropped her needlepoint and put her hands over her mouth, her eyes widening. “Well, we better find you a mask, hm?”

\---

Harry tightened the bows on the three boxes he had prepared for the Tomlinsons with shaking hands. The night had fallen a couple of hours earlier, turning the window of the shop into a pitch black wall speckled with the flickering glow of the candles. Harry could hear carollers out on the streets and the busy bustle of last minutes preparations, of people rushing to and fro between their shops and their homes, of effusions of happiness at the arrival of relatives. A carriage passed by, its bells jingling merrily. 

On the counter, next to the boxes, a mask faced Harry and in the dim light of the shop, it seemed as though its empty eye-sockets were staring at him. The mask was white and had a long, crow-like nose. The man who sold it to him insisted it was akin to the _commedia dell’arte_ and in the spirit of a masquerade. Harry had chosen to trust him, even if he felt quite foolish wearing such a big nose. It was simple and unadorned, but it had been all that Harry could afford after he had bought garments for the ball. He was wearing them already, black trousers and a silvery grey brocade waistcoat over a white shirt with a white ascot around his neck. The outfit was completed with a top hat he had borrowed from his brother-in-law and a black brocade cape. He put it on and smoothed down the front of his cape grabbing the boxes and heading out. He wasn’t sure about the cape, finding it frivolous and extravagant, but Gemma had insisted it would add to the air of mystery he must be surrounded with. He was, after all, sneaking into an aristocratic ball without a formal invitation.

It had snowed for most of the afternoon, but the weather had improved after nightfall, leaving a layer of snow covering the sidewalks. Already, the coming and going of walkers had flattened it until it was almost iced. Harry walked slowly on the slippery ground, weaving his way awkwardly, the boxes heavy and cumbersome in his arms.

For a while, as he walked, Harry worried that he wouldn’t find the right house. He knew in which direction to go, his path guided by the houses getting increasingly bigger and richer the further he went away from the merchant street he had started on. The crowd didn’t let out on those side streets, families, carollers and strollers who seemed unaware of the biting cold filling them and making his going slow. As he neared the end of the street his father had assured him the Tomlinsons lived on, though, the crowd thinned until Harry was alone. Up ahead, the largest house he had seen so far was brightly lit, lamps placed in the windows of every room, welcoming people in. A carriage drove by and stopped a few paces ahead, sumptuously dressed people getting out of it and heading for the house. Harry quickened his pace, sure of his destination.

He crossed the gate without a problem, the doors left wide opened to accommodate the influx of guests, but he took a moment before he reached the front door to put on his mask, tying the ribbons behind his head tightly. He readjusted it for a moment and picked up the boxes once more, brushing off the snow and continuing his walk up the alley towards the entrance. No one stopped him at the door except to take his hat in exchange for a ticket with a number written on it. He kept the cape.

The hall in which he had entered was larger than his family’s entire shop and Harry took a few seconds to gaze around, his eyes wide with wonder. The crowd seemed to all be headed in the same direction and he followed them, keeping his head low to remain inconspicuous. The last thing he needed was to be presented to the lady of the house. He knew well enough that despite Louis’ veiled invitation, he should not be there.

From the hall they moved to a sitting room where the only source of light was a fire roaring in the hearth. Most of the furniture was gone, replaced by tables covered with foods of all kind, their shadows dancing on the walls. Harry did not stop for the food, yet, instead following the crowd to the next room, which took his breath away.

The ballroom was where most of the guests were. It had a high, gilded ceiling and a massive chandelier hanging in the centre of it. On it, more than a hundred candles were burning. The entire back wall of the room was made of windows, which opened on a terrace. Standing in front of it and outshining the chandelier was a tall Christmas tree, decorated with even more candles and tinsels in myriad colours. At its foot, presents were piled up, their wrappings elaborate and enticing.

Harry crossed the room, keeping to the walls to avoid unnecessary conversations, and placed the boxes underneath the tree before turning to face the room once more. The guests were conversing here and there, unrecognisable under their masks. There was an air of frivolity, a twinge of the forbidden granted to them by the anonymity of their costumes. Harry had worried he would stand out, but with his mask on and in his evening dress, he could be the Prince of Wales and no one would know.

The dancing hadn’t begun, Harry noticed, and he took that opportunity to leave the ballroom and walk back into the sitting room to inspect the food. Once there, a few people smiled at him and he smiled back, bowing his head briefly before making a beeline for the flutes of champagne. Armed with one, he then moved over to the table, sampling and tasting the cakes and pastries on offer. No one tried to talk to him and he made sure not to join any conversations, still unsure whether everyone knew everyone and would therefore immediately identify him as a clandestine guest.

Harry longed to see Louis, but neither he nor any member of his family was anywhere to be seen. With a quiet chuckle to himself, Harry wondered if he would be able to recognise him and concluded that perhaps Louis was the man sitting on his own on a fainting chair by the door to the hall, glancing nervously every time someone walked in. He was wearing a mask of a red, almost pink fabric, decorated by pale golden drawings. His waistcoat was made of rich red brocade and a white ascot was tied around his neck. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing the plum ribbon he had wrapped around his forearms. His hands were covered with thin, see-through white gloves. Frowning, Harry took a few steps in his direction, trying to decide whether he had seen that dainty nose and those cheekbones before. It was only when the man smiled in greeting at someone that he recognised Louis at once, a grin breaking on his face. 

\---

Louis barely even looked at the man who sat next to him, only briefly glancing in his direction before turning back to his vigil by the door, taking a second to scoff at the long nose of the man’s white mask. He wished he did not expect Harry to come, but he was weak and hopeless when it came to the gorgeous toymaker. He had not even invited him, but he had hoped, foolishly, that Harry might have understood what he had been insinuating. Or had he even been insinuating? All he did was tell Harry about the ball and to come deliver his sisters’ presents. For all he knew, he had come and gone hours ago. He sighed.

“Happy birthday,” the man said, breaking the silence and cutting Louis’ ruminations short.

Frowning, Louis blinked at him. He was the first guest to recognise Louis, he had to give him credit even if his presence was less than welcome. “How do you know who I am? Have we met?”

“Yes, we have,” the stranger replied, smiling as he took a sip of champagne. The room was too dark to allow Louis a good glimpse of his eyes, which might have helped him.

Louis sighed again. “How? I’m not in the mood for riddles, sir.”

“But it is your birthday, shouldn’t you be enjoying it?”

“I’m waiting for someone, if you really want to know.” Louis got up. “If you’ll excuse me.” He took a quick bow before heading for the table covered in cakes, grabbing the first pastry he could find and leaving for the ballroom.

The grandfather clock by the mantle struck nine and it seemed to Louis like the excitation heightened from it. The dancers tittered and changed partners, the dresses of the ladies fluttering and whirling as their partners twirled them around. Louis weaved his way through them, avoiding eye contact by bowing his head until he reached the Christmas tree. He looked at the presents piled underneath and he was about to turn around when his heart lurched at the sight of three new sky blue ones he had not seen before, tied with lengths of cream ribbon. Louis kneeled down to read the labels and a grin bloomed on his face when he saw that there was one for each of the twins as well as one for him. Harry had come, there was no doubt, now, and Louis let himself hope for a moment that he might still be there. 

Louis looked up at the tree, marvelling at the way it appeared to go on forever, and he let himself have a moment of quiet, of just watching the candles flicker as the music from the ball filled his mind and cleared his thoughts. Louis closed his eyes and breathed in deeply the fresh, green smell of the tree spiced with smoke from the candles, gathering his courage to face his guests and the ladies his mother invited for him. Opening them again, he let out a small cry of surprise when he saw that someone was extending their hand to him.

“You again,” Louis said as he took the hand and let the man help him up. Standing in front of the man, Louis realised he was shorter. That did not improve his gloomy mood.

“Me again,” the man replied with a chuckle and a smile partially hidden by the long nose of his mask. He handed Louis a flute and Louis took it begrudgingly. “You have a lovely home,” the man continued.

“Not mine. My father’s.” Louis sipped his champagne slowly, raking his brain to try and figure out if he’d seen the man before. His mask hid too many of his features to tell Louis who he was. “I like your cape,” he said instead, making sure that his tone denoted just how much he found it ridiculous.

The man hesitated, taking a step back. “Oh, my s—thank you.” He pushed his arm out, making the cape billow, and let out a shy laugh. “It’s inconvenient, I nearly set it on fire earlier.”

Louis couldn’t hold back his laugh and he cleared his throat, hoping the man wouldn’t take it as a sign that he was warming up to him. “I can imagine, yes.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them. Louis finished his flute in a couple of long sips and glanced at the man again, frowning slightly. He knew who Louis was. He had recognised him despite his mask, he ought to be someone Louis had met more than once, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out who he might be. Even the wildest part of his brain, the one that had hoped the toymaker might linger after his delivery, knew that even if he had, he wouldn’t be wearing clothes that looked as rich as the ones the man was wearing. He wouldn’t hold himself that way either; Harry was always slightly hunched over, as if he were trying to take as little room as possible. The man standing next to Louis, on the other hand, seemed comfortable to be filling the space, even intruding on Louis’ by standing just a step too close.

“Louis, dearest brother, come dance!” Charlotte called as she came closer, her light pink dress rustling as walked. She was wearing a white lace mask that did nothing to hide her identity.

Before Louis could protest and barely leaving him time to give his flute to the stranger, Charlotte had pulled him along and into the swaying crowd, getting into position and all but leading the dance. Louis’ eyes lingered on the stranger, who stayed where Louis had left him for a moment before he headed back to the sitting room, hugging the walls as he did so.

“Who were you talking to?” Charlotte inquired as Louis twirled them deeper into the crowd.

“I don’t know. He came up to me and knew who I was… I suppose I know him, too.”

Charlotte’s eyes sparkled and her smile widened. “This is all very mysterious, I love it! Have you asked him questions to figure out his identity? You know, how you met, if you have friends in common, how he knew who you were.”

“I do not think I want to know more about him, to be honest. I have more important people to pay attention to.”

“He might be one of those important people, though, have you thought about it? He could be a prince!”

Louis rolled his eyes, intentionally missing a step to make her lose her balance. She slapped his arm reproachfully. “I’ve never met a prince, he wouldn’t know me.”

“Well, then, I suppose you only have to go through everyone you know and eliminate them. I saw Lord Horan in the sitting room, he was having an intimate conversation with a plate of hors-d’oeuvres,” Charlotte said, frowning as she thought. “Lord and Lady Payne are dancing nearby, look behind me, they’re the ones with the matching golden masks.”

Louis looked over his sister’s shoulder and nodded as he recognised his old friend. “And Lord Malik could not make it, he was called abroad for a family emergency,” he added.

“Those are your close friends sorted out, then. Anyone else who might have recognised you under your mask?”

No matter how hard Louis searched through his memories, he could not find who might have recognised him. He let out a sigh and shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“You know, he might have just asked one of our sisters or even Mama. It might not be such a big mystery, after all. Besides, it’s not like it will affect your potential marriage, hm?” Charlotte said lightly.

Louis missed a step again. “No, I suppose you’re right. It isn’t really a problem.”

“You should enjoy the ball, then! It’s your birthday, Louis, and you look like you’re attending a funeral.” 

Charlotte squeezed his hand comfortingly before keeping Louis for a second dance, a more energetic one that left Louis breathless when he finally got out of his sister’s grip. Feeling parched, he headed for the sitting room, where he found the stranger sitting by himself in front of the hearth, staring into the flames. With two flutes of champagne in hand, Louis joined him, sitting on the chair next to his. He smiled when the man looked over.

“I’ve decided that I don’t care who you are,” Louis announced as he gave the man a flute. “It is my birthday and I want to enjoy it.”

The man smiled and nodded, taking a sip before answering. “This is a good decision,” he replied, his slow, deep voice barely loud enough for Louis to hear him over the din of conversations. “A wise one, too. How is Lady Charlotte doing?”

Louis gave him a puzzled look, ignoring the question about his sister. “Why is that? Is your identity dangerous?”

With a chuckle, the man shook his head. “No, not dangerous.”

Louis pouted. “But danger is great! I’d have loved for you to be a convicted criminal who escaped from prison and sneaked into my ball to avoid the police, hiding behind a mask he stole from an unfortunate gentleman who tried to stop him.”

“I am not a murderer, sadly.” He paused before shaking his head. “No, not sadly. Fortunately. It’s fortunate that I’m not a murderer. You’re making me say ridiculous nonsense.”

Louis’ heart gave a flutter. “Why is that? Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, pitching his voice higher to sound coy.

The stranger nodded before bowing his head with a shy laugh. “Very much so.” He took a sip of champagne. “Not only are you beautiful, but you’re also witty and kind.” It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it seemed to Louis like the man was blushing.

“So you’ve seen me without my mask!” Louis let out louder, ignoring the way his stomach tightened under the compliments.

“I have, yes. How else would I have recognised you?”

“I thought you might have asked my mother where I was.”

“It would be incredibly problematic if I spoke to your mother.”

Louis pondered his last words, wondering what he had meant by them. Was it that he was one of Louis’ friends that his mother disapproved of? They were rare, but they existed. Or perhaps he was not supposed to be there…

No, Louis thought strongly. Harry came and went hours ago, when Louis was busy getting ready for the ball in his room. He missed him and the shy boy ran away before anyone might ask him what he was doing there. Perhaps he did not even enter the house, instead leaving the presents to their butler for him to place them under the tree. In any case, Harry was at home.

“My mother is far less intimidating than she seems, you know. She’s a lovely lady.”

“I do not doubt it,” the stranger said, finishing his champagne. Louis mirrored him.

“Can’t I get a name? It’s my birthday, you have to give me what I want,” Louis asked, growing increasingly frustrated once again.

“It would be too easy, wouldn’t it? I can’t give everything away.”

Louis sighed dramatically and got up to fetch them more champagne, shrugging when the man thanked him as he took his flute. Their hands brushed and Louis blushed.

“So, you’ve seen me without my mask and you knew it was my birthday without having to ask. How did we meet?”

“I thought you didn’t want to know who I was?”

Louis downed his flute. “Changed my mind.”

The stranger stayed silent for a moment, swirling the content of his flute around and staring at it. “We had business together.”

“Not helpful,” Louis complained with a groan. “I have business with a lot of people.”

The man shrugged. “It’s not intriguing if I tell you who I am, is it?” He finished his flute and got up, holding out his hand. “Do you want to dance?”

Before his words fully registered in Louis’ brain, he noticed how the man seemed unaware of the proper way to ask someone to dance. Everything about his proposal was wrong, from his posture to his choice of words. He wasn’t used to balls, that much was clear.

“I am not nearly drunk enough to dance with a man in public,” Louis said, getting up quickly. “We need more champagne.”

By the time the clock struck eleven, Louis was wiping the tears from his eyes as he laughed and laughed and laughed at the stranger’s rambling, drunkenly nonsensical stories. Louis had moved his chair closer to hear him better and their knees were touching as he leaned against the armrest, his head in his hand, enraptured by the man’s slow drawl. His smile was the thing Louis had grown to like the most, boyish and crooked with the most adorably dimpled cheeks, and more than once Louis caught himself almost pressing his finger into one. He was charming, too, making Louis feel like the most important person in all of England, complimenting him and making him blush like a shy maiden. Most importantly, Louis was yearning to shove the man’s mask aside and kiss him until his lips were swollen and bruised.

In all honesty, Harry was long forgotten, cast aside by a dimpled stranger and too much champagne. He was almost glad, now, that Harry hadn’t come, because he wouldn’t have met this stranger, this tall man who could make his heart flutter with a single glance. Harry, on the other hand, was the cute, bashful toymaker who always seemed star-struck that Louis would even know he existed. It was nice, to be sure, to feel appreciated, but Louis also quite enjoyed the way the stranger constantly unsettled him.

“Do you want to dance, now?” the man asked for the fourth time, taking Louis’ hand with both of his.

“It’s not proper!” Louis replied, voice squeaky. “People could talk.”

“They don’t know who we are.”

It had been his argument twice already, but this time it struck a chord and Louis nodded, getting up. “They don’t know who we are, you’re right. It’s a masquerade.”

“Does this mean you will dance with me?” The man’s voice was full of hope and Louis’ heart fluttered once more.

“Yes, it will be my pleasure to dance with you, sir.”

A wide grin broke on the stranger’s face and he got to his feet, unsteadily at first, and held out his hand for Louis. Taking it, Louis let the man pull him along, feeling giddy and light-headed. He was so lost in the feeling of being controlled by this taller man that he did not notice when he stopped, collapsing into him.

“Look, they have gingersnaps! Your favourite!” the man exclaimed, picking up a plate from a table and handing it to Louis.

“I know, I ordered them myself,” Louis replied, taking one and biting it primly. He frowned a second later. “How do you know they’re my favourite?”

The man visibly tensed before shrugging. “I just do. Dance?”

Before Louis could reply, he was being pulled along and into the ballroom. He gasped when the man put his hand on the small of his back and stepped closer to him, doing nothing more than stand there holding Louis’ hand.

“Do you not know how to dance?” Louis asked with a smirk.

He bit his lip. “No, that’s not it. I just think you should lead, it is your birthday, after all.”

Louis hummed, rolling his eyes and switching their positions to lead, waiting a moment to count the time signature of the song before he started moving them around the room, looking at the stranger to ignore the inquisitive glances. He was particularly captivated by the way the stranger’s cape billowed every time they turned, outshining even the biggest skirts surrounding them. From this close, Louis could see the colour of the man’s eyes clearly as he watched the candles dance in them: green. Green eyes, then, looking gorgeous next to a mane of brown hair, the stuffiness of the room making some of it curl out of the way it had been slicked against his head. 

Green eyes and curls, and a boyish smile, and the knowledge of seemingly unrelated parts of Louis’ life, like his birthday, the name of his sisters or his favourite biscuits. A man who was taller, but as Louis came to realise from being so close, not much broader. Through the haze of champagne and the disorienting way they were twirling, cogs started turning in Louis’ head. He said it would be problematic if he met Louis’ mother, he knew nothing of ballroom etiquette, he did not seem to know anyone else at the ball. 

“Harry,” Louis gasped out, looking up with wide, disbelieving eyes.

The man blushed. “What gave it away?”

Louis’ shock gave way to unabashed happiness and he grinned, pulling Harry closer to him. “Your green eyes.”

Harry chuckled, bowing his head. “Damn my eyes.”

“No, no, bless your eyes. Bless your lovely eyes. Why did you pretend you were a stranger?”

“You didn’t recognise me and I panicked, thinking I misunderstood your… veiled invitation.” The confidence Harry had displayed when he was anonymous seemed to have vanished, turning him back into a bashful boy. Louis’ heart fluttered happily.

“You did not. I was afraid you hadn’t understood what I was saying.”

“So I _was_ invited, wasn’t I?” The mask hid it, but Louis could tell from his tone that he was frowning.

“You were. You’ve just made me a very happy man, Harold.”

Harry giggled and nodded, missing a step. Louis tightened his arm around him to hold him up. “I’m glad I did. You deserve it, it’s your day.”

“My day is almost over, though.”

“Let’s make every minute count, then,” Harry replied, voice low. It sent shivers up Louis’ spine.

From that moment on, it seemed like every step brought them closer, every turns closing the gap between them. Unintentionally, Louis was waltzing them towards the edges of the room. When he noticed, he slowed down his unconscious actions, trying to keep them well in sight of everyone. He was afraid of what he might do if he were left alone with Harry, not after they had spent most of the evening talking and flirting with each other. This, added to his constant desire to kiss Harry that he carried with him since they first met in the summer, after he had seen him play with the twins in his store, was a dangerous mix.

Harry was not helping, either, keeping his eyes on Louis’ face and seemingly devouring him, his wide green eyes looking even bigger and brighter behind the golden trim of his mask. He seemed as overwhelmed by the situation as Louis was, which was a comfort, at least.

More than once, Louis found himself inching his face closer to Harry’s, as if to kiss him, only to be rebuked by the shape of his mask and the terrorising realisation that they were in public, surrounded by everyone Louis knew. Even more terrorising was the way Harry’s eyes would flutter shut each time Louis did it and he would bow his head to get closer. The fourth time it happened, Louis caught him licking his lips. He swallowed thickly.

Louis lost count of the number of dances they spent together, his entire world reduced to Harry’s arm across his shoulders, his hand in his, his skin warm through the fabric of Louis’ glove, and his eyes, impossibly green despite the dim lights. When Louis turned them just right, the chandelier or the Christmas tree would reflect in them, lighting them up with the flickers of a hundred candles, making Louis feel like a fire was burning inside of Harry himself. They were standing too close for propriety, a mere inch separating their bodies and Louis had stopped leading the dance, instead swaying Harry from side to side as they stayed in one spot.

“I never thought you cared about me,” Harry said, voice low and rumbling. His eyes flicked up to the chandelier as he said it, as if to avoid Louis’ gaze, and it was like the stars migrated from the night sky to Harry’s eyes. Louis’ stomach gave a swoop.

“I always did, from the first day we met. Do you remember? You’d just come in from bringing food to the newsboy outside your shop and you were soaked through from the rain, but you still took the time to hold the door for the twins and I before getting back in. And you pretended like you weren’t dripping over the floorboards as you talked about your toys with such passion that it nearly made me cry. I’ve never been as passionate about anything as you are about what you do. I was lost from that moment.”

The music stopped and there was a pause, a breath, like time itself stopped, before the band started again and the movement around them returned, the couples whirling around and passing them, their garments blurs of colours in Louis’ peripheral vision. His eyes were fixed on Harry, seeing and noticing only him.

“I remember,” Harry said, nodding. “I was so embarrassed, I wanted to disappear under the floorboards. You looked so handsome in your suit and I looked like a drowned cat, but the way you talked to me… I felt as though I was as important as you.”

“You are,” Louis replied, tightening his hold on Harry’s hand. “You’re far more important than I am.”

Harry shook his head. “No one is more important than you,” he said, his voice lower than Louis had ever heard it.

Louis was at a loss for words, his mouth hanging open in a mortifying way. Once more, he found himself wishing he could kiss Harry, but the nose of his mask was in the way and removing it in front of everyone would end the charm they were bound by, turning the enchanting moment back into a reality where everything kept them apart. Harry, too, seemed to be wishing the same, his eyes flicking back and forth between Louis’ eyes and his lips, his breathing all but non-existent. The arm Harry had around Louis’ shoulder shifted and he felt fingers brush over the nape of his neck, making him bow his head and close his eyes as shivers shook him. Moving up through Louis’ hair, Harry’s hand stopped at the knot holding up Louis’ mask to tug lightly on one of the strings.

It seemed to break a spell and Louis gasped, gripping Harry’s hand even tighter than before and dragging him along before he could change his mind. He only stopped once they were behind the tree and out of sight from the rest of the room, in between burning candles and the terrace doors, the wall behind them nothing but windows from floor to ceiling. The ballroom was reflected in them, reminding Louis of the proximity of his guests.

It was pushed to the back of his mind as soon as Harry stepped into his space and untied his mask, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. Louis reached up to do the same and threw the mask aside, eyes roaming hungrily over Harry’s face now that he could see all of it. He got rid of his gloves before he took Harry’s head between his hands and stroked his cheeks softly, his thumbs brushing over the boy’s cheekbones.

Harry’s hands flew to Louis’ waist, gripping tightly and pulling him closer, and it was all it took for Louis to get up on the tip of his toes and kiss Harry, gasping through his nose and letting out a small whimper when their lips met. Harry tensed for a second before he relaxed, wrapped his arm around Louis’ waist and kissed back in earnest.

Louis let go of Harry’s face to sink his fingers into his hair, tugging it loose from the product holding it down as he kissed Harry with growing intensity, feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest. A swirling mess of emotions were filling his mind, happiness and fear, exhilaration and lust, and they all mixed in together, fogging Louis’ head until he forgot all sense of time and space and lost himself in the feeling of Harry’s lips against is, of his strong arms holding him close. He stepped closer, pressing their bodies together, and Harry keened, gripping the back of Louis’ waistcoat in his fists.

“I had no idea you wanted this, too,” Louis said against Harry’s lips, pulling Harry even closer. “You never flirted back.”

“I was too shy,” Harry replied, hands stroking Louis’ back almost desperately. “I thought I was imagining things that weren’t there.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head before pulling lightly on Harry’s bottom lip with his teeth. “You were not. They were there.”

Harry nodded, whimpered, and kissed Louis again. “I’m happy to hear it.”

“Are you?” Louis asked, his tone teasing, enjoying the way Harry blushed. “I am, too. I’ve wanted to do this for quite some time.”

“Me too,” Harry whispered back, delicately kissing Louis’ nose, then his cheekbones. Louis’ eyes fluttered shut. “For a very long time.”

Acting on instinct, Louis pushed Harry back until his back hit the window and pressed up against him, giving him a bruising kiss and slipping his tongue past Harry’s lips when he gasped quietly. Feeling a stirring in his trousers, Louis moved even closer, breathing hard and loud through his nose. He let out a quiet whimper when Harry pulled his shirt out of his trousers and snaked his hands underneath it to stroke Louis’ back. Louis licked into his mouth once more and was rewarded by Harry dragging his nails down his back, raising goose bumps. Louis let go of Harry’s hair and moved them down to his shoulders, then his neck, untying his ascot and letting it fall to the floor before undoing the buttons of his waistcoat quickly. He moved on to his shirt and went slowly, letting his fingers drag on the bare skin he uncovered.

Harry broke the kiss, panting. “Are we…”

“Yes,” Louis replied quickly, his hands stroking Harry’s chest underneath his shirt, lightly teasing his nipples before he resumed unbuttoning it and pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, alternating between kissing it feverishly and sucking lightly.

Harry threw his head back, his skull thumping loudly against the window. Louis held his breath for a second, listening for any sign that they’d been heard, before resuming his work and pulling the shirt completely out of Harry’s trousers once it was undone. He moved on to the buttons of Harry’s trousers and grinned when Harry gasped and scratched his back once more.

“We’re… people could hear…” Harry panted, his actions contradicting his words as he, too, began undoing Louis’ trousers. “Louis, wait,” he added, peeling himself away and putting his hands against the window, as if he did not trust himself not to strip Louis if given the chance. It made Louis’ cock twitch to think about it.

Louis stopped and bit his lip, looking up at Harry with uncertainty. “Is this too much?”

“No, not at all,” Harry immediately replied, shaking his head for emphasis. “But there are close to a hundred people a few feet from us.”

“Isn’t it exciting?” Louis heard himself say, surprised by the brashness of his own words. “I mean… you’re right. People are close.”

Looking around, Louis tried to think of a solution. His eyes fell on the heavy velvet curtains that had been left opened for the evening and he grinned, nodding his head towards them. Harry frowned for a second before he understood. They parted long enough to pull the curtains shut, each moving to opposite sides of the room and meeting in the middle to hide behind them. Louis moved into Harry’s space to be closer, pressing his body against Harry’s, until they were safely hidden in the musty darkness of the curtains. Without the light from the candles, Louis could see outdoors behind Harry and he gazed at the starry sky for a moment, a sense of quietude descending upon him as he watched the freshly fallen snow twinkle in the moonlight. In the ballroom, the band switched to a slow, romantic waltz and Louis kissed underneath Harry’s jaw, then behind his ear, and then in a trail down his neck, smiling against Harry’s salty skin when he bent his head to the side to give better access to Louis.

In the intimacy granted to them by the curtain, some of Louis’ urgency receded, allowing him to take his time kissing Harry everywhere he could reach, relishing how responsive he was to the merest touches. Cold was seeping in through the windowpanes, but Harry’s body was warm and Louis slipped his arms around his bare waist, pressing their chests together. Louis could hear Harry’s heart thumping in his heaving chest, beating as fast as Louis’ own, and it made him smile and get up on the tip of his toes once more to kiss the tip of Harry’s nose.

“Do you want to continue what we were doing?” Louis asked him softly, stroking his jaw with the tip of his fingers. When Harry nodded, Louis smiled. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Only to myself,” Harry admitted, shifting uneasily against the window.

“Naughty boy, hm? I like it,” Louis said. “I haven’t, either. Not to someone else.”

“It’s reassuring,” Harry admitted.

“It really is.” Louis laughed, nervous all at once when he realised what they were about to do. “I will… begin.”

Louis waited for Harry’s nod before he let his hand travel down Harry’s chest, feeling him tense up at first, then relax under the touches. Louis only stopped at the waistband of his trousers. It was nearly impossible in the dark for him to see Harry’s face, so he leaned up to kiss him. When Harry kissed back, Louis slipped his hand inside Harry’s trousers and pressed his palm over his cock, licking his lips when he felt it warm and hard. Harry gasped, wrapping his arms loosely around Louis’ shoulders, head thumping once more against the window, the entire pane rattling under the hit.

Beginning slowly, Louis palmed Harry’s cock, adjusting his rhythm to the muffled moans and gasps Harry let out. He started kissing and sucking on the skin of his neck once more, raking his teeth now and then to make Harry hiss sharply. When he felt Harry roll his hips against his hand, Louis wrapped it around his cock and began pumping it in earnest, twisting his wrist around the head tentatively. He grinned against Harry’s neck when he was rewarded by a loud gasp and by Harry’s hands clawing at his back for purchase, gripping his waistcoat tightly.

Louis pulled his hand away quickly to lick it broadly a couple of times before sinking it back into Harry’s trousers and taking his cock in his hands once more, quickening his motions in the hopes that he may drag pretty noises out of Harry once more.

He got what he wanted when he tightened his hand, drawing small whimpers out of Harry’s lips. It made him smile as he pressed kisses along his jaw and then nibbled on his earlobe, pulling it with his teeth, making Harry gasp and thrust his cock into Louis’ fist.

“Do me,” Louis breathed in his ear before licking the shell.

Harry nodded and scrambled to slip his hand down the front of Louis’ trousers, immediately wrapping it around Louis’ cock and jerking it too quick, too soon. Louis gasped and muffled a moan against Harry’s shoulder, hips stuttering forward as his entire body shook.

“Is this good?”

“Yes,” Louis breathed out sharply, pumping his hand faster and imagining what Harry’s large hand must look like on his cock. He moaned again, biting the fabric of Harry’s waistcoat to silence it.

The band had started a lively tarantella and it only worked to make Louis more eager, the rhythm of his hand increasingly matching that of the piece and causing Harry to let out desperate, high-pitched whimpers. Harry, too, began pumping faster and Louis could not hold back in time the loud moan that escaped his lips, the sensation of Harry’s tight, rapid jerks making him throw his head back in ecstasy.

They both froze as they heard footsteps coming nearer. Harry gripped Louis’ shoulder and held his breath. Louis did the same, the surge of panic rising through him helping him forget how they still had their hands wrapped around the other’s cock. The curtains concealed them, but their feet and the bump they made in it would immediately be noticed, not to mention their discarded masks and gloves and Harry’s ascot lying on the floor.

“Is someone hurt back there?” Louis heard the butler say and he breathed out a sigh of relief. Of all the people who might have found them, the butler was the one most likely to keep whatever he saw quiet.

“It was me, Buchanan. I’m all right,” Louis said, praying his voice sounded inconspicuous.

“Oh, Lord Louis, it’s you. I heard a cry of pain as I was checking on the tree. May I ask what you are doing hiding in the curtains?”

“You may not.” 

“I’m sorry, my lord, I did not mean to intrude. Are you sure you are not hurt?”

“Quite certain, Buchanan. I stubbed my toe, that is all. I should survive. You are excused.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The footsteps receded and Louis pressed his face against Harry’s chest to stifle his laughter, the release of his stress making him almost hysterical.

“Who was it?” Harry asked in a hiss, still tensed.

“The butler,” Louis replied. “Curious, but he knows when to keep quiet. This is definitely a thing he will keep hushed. He knows better than to snitch when it comes to me.”

Harry let out a shaky breath. Louis wished he could see Harry’s face, this yearning adding fuel to his desire to throw open the curtains. Their combined body heat made the dark, enclosed place suffocating; Louis could feel sweat rolling down his spine, making him cringe. He reached up and stroked Harry’s cheek, smiling when Harry turned his head to kiss his palm before starting once more to pump his hand. Louis bit his lip and did the same, careful now not to be too loud.

It took him a moment to get back in the mood, but Harry was there instantly, whimpering and sighing almost immediately after Louis began jerking him off again. The muffled noises Harry made got Louis back into it and it was not long before he had to bite Harry’s waistcoat once more to keep quiet. His brain supplied the images the darkness deprived him of and he imagined the way Harry’s face must look, cheeks flushed and lips swollen and bitten red. His hair must have fallen down on his face and stuck to his forehead because of the sweat, and his eyes would flutter prettily every time he whimpered. Louis pulled Harry’s head down with a hand on the back of his neck for a kiss, crashing their lips without finesse and moaning into it as their tongues licked and slipped on each other. Louis tried to picture how small his hand would look wrapped around Harry’s cock, the length and girth of it impressive to Louis, even blindly, and he moaned again, the sound swallowed by Harry.

Louis twisted his wrist on the upstroke and stroked his thumb over the slit of Harry’s cock, drawing a broken moan out of Harry. He felt his hips stutter against his fist a second before something hot and wet splashed on it as Harry clawed at Louis’ back with his free hand, his entire body shaking. Louis continued jerking Harry’s cock, his come making the slip easier, until Harry hissed and tried to shift away. Louis took his hand out of Harry’s trousers and wiped it on the curtain behind him, leaning up to kiss Harry with a smile.

Harry’s motions on Louis’ cock had turned lazy and near inexistent as he came, and now that he had come down he seemed happy to just rest against the wall and breath deeply. That wouldn’t do. With a needy whine, Louis began thrusting his hips against Harry’s fist, hoping he would get the message and start doing it himself.

“Please, Harry…” Louis said in a whine when Harry failed to move satisfyingly.

“What time is it?” Harry asked and Louis groaned and hit his chest.

“Who cares? It’s my turn!”

“Wait,” Harry said, pressing a kiss to Louis’ lips. “It must be close, now…”

As he spoke, the grandfather clock began ringing to announce midnight. Without a warning, Harry started jerking Louis’ cock quickly, too quickly, twisting his wrist and squeezing on the upstroke in a way that made Louis weak in the knees. The change of pace made him gasp and he clung to Harry’s arm, pressing his forehead against his chest and gasping on every panting inhale. Before he could see it coming, Louis was hit by his orgasm, his teeth sunk into Harry’s collarbone to muffle his moans.

The clock struck a final time and Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ lips. “Merry Christmas, Louis,” he said, kissing him again.

It dawned on Louis at once. “Did you plan this?”

“I might have, yes, but only a minute ago and I did not know midnight was so close. I thought it’d be a nice parallel: my presence here tonight was your birthday present and then I’d also have a Christmas present for you.”

Louis debated for a moment how he should react. He settled on laughter and he giggled, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and pressing a kiss to his sternum. “Thank you. Merry Christmas, Harry.”

“To be sure, this is only one of your Christmas presents.”

“The third box?” Louis asked, grinning.

“The third box, yes.”

“What’s in it?”

Harry laughed and kissed Louis once more. “I’m not telling you. You’ll know soon enough.”

Louis pouted before he remembered that Harry could not see him. He sighed, hoping that sounding sad might sway Harry, but when it failed to move him, Louis gave up. He _would_ know soon enough.

“We should go back to the ball before they notice we’re missing,” Louis said as he began fixing his clothes.

“I suppose we should, yes,” Harry said with a sigh. Louis waited in the dark, listening to the rustling and shifting that came from Harry buttoning his shirt and waistcoat. “You can open the curtain,” he said at last.

Louis did it, blinking against the light when they re-emerged. He bent down to pick up their masks and the ascot, slipped his gloves back on. He watched Harry retie his ascot and then handed him his mask before putting on his own. Once done, he turned to see that Harry still hadn’t put his mask back on.

“I wanted one last kiss before it’s impossible,” Harry explained, shrugging dismissively.

With a grin bright enough to light the room, Louis stepped closer and kissed Harry tenderly, fingers stroking his jaw. Harry returned it eagerly, holding Louis’ waist, until Louis backed out of his reach.

“This isn’t the last,” Louis said as he watched Harry tie his mask. He helped him adjust it and then pecked his cheek. “Goodbye, Harry. Welcome back, handsome and charming stranger.” Harry giggled and rearranged his cape. “Come, now, I will introduce you to my friends.”

They spent the rest of the night alternating between the ballroom for a dance and the sitting room with Louis’ friends where the conversations flowed easier than they normally would with the help of champagne and the way Louis introduce them to Harry: no titles, only first names. Harry would have plenty of time to become uncomfortable around his friends; the last thing he wanted during his birthday ball was for his darling and his closest friends to be separated by social conventions. 

Harry made it his mission to sample every food on offer and he and Niall devised a scale on which to rank them while Louis, Liam and Sophia watched them, placing bets on who would feel sick first. Liam won when Harry came back to them complaining about nausea and Louis had to invite Niall for a dance as a consequence.

An hour or so before sunrise, they went out on the terrace and discarded their masks. Harry taught all of them how to make snow angels before they set out to make a snowman, singing carols at the top of their lungs as they worked. Liam placed his top hat on its head and Niall earned himself a snowball in the face when he said the snowman and Liam looked uncannily similar. Louis watched Harry watch them and laugh, his heart swelling with affection at the sight.

Louis watched the sunrise holding Harry in his arms, the two of them wrapped in Harry’s cape against the cold. They risked a kiss and Louis felt a thrill of excitement go through him to be doing out in the open, which was then only enhanced by the blush that crept on Harry’s cheeks. Liam and Sophia took their leave after sunrise, choosing to walk back home. To Louis’ dismay, Harry said he would follow them, picking his mask up from where he had abandoned it in the snow.

“I told my mother I would be back before midnight and it is now after sunrise. I must really go,” Harry said sadly, hovering around Louis, visibly unsure of what he should do.

Niall had the decency to go back inside to give them some privacy and Louis made a note to thank him later. For the time being, he took Harry’s hands in his and squeezed them, looking up at him worriedly.

“Will I see you again?”

“You come to my shop once a week,” Harry said with a laugh, but there was no joy behind it.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know. I hope so. I want to.”

Louis nodded. “Good. I will make it happen.”

Harry smiled and leaned down for a kiss, which Louis returned. “You know, I’ve always considered that it isn’t tomorrow until you’ve gone to sleep. Technically, it is still your birthday.”

“If that is so, you’ve given me the best birthday of my entire life,” Louis said earnestly, kissing Harry again.

“This is what you deserved,” Harry said, stroking Louis’ cheek softly.

Louis shivered under the tenderness and from the cold, already missing Harry’s heat. He could not believe his luck as he looked at Harry, at the sweet boy who went out of his way to make sure Louis’ birthday outshone Christmas Eve. If he had been fancying Harry before, after that evening, Louis was sure to be in love. It was like a flame had been lit up inside of him, reminiscent of the ones reflected in Harry’s eyes earlier, and Louis swore to himself that he would tend and protect this flame hardily.

“Go back inside, you’re freezing. Will I see you soon?”

“As soon as I can, I promise.”

They shared another kiss before Louis walked Harry to the front of the house through the ballroom and the sitting room, passing the remains of the ball and a few stragglers pilfering through the leftover food. At the front door, Louis pulled Harry into a tight hug before letting him go, watching him walk away until he disappeared around a corner.

Louis made a final stop before going back to his room. He crossed the ballroom once more and knelt by the tree, pulling the box labelled with his name closer and unwrapping it quickly. Inside, nestled in a bed of silk, was a doll to his likeness, with blue eyes and light brown hair, wearing a black suit like the one Harry had always seen him in. Next to it, Harry left a note, which Louis picked up.

Written in Harry’s loopy handwriting, the note said: ‘ _I succeeded with the blue eyes, hope you will not think this a childish present. The rosy cheeks made me think of you. Happy birthday and merry Christmas, Louis. Yours, Harry._ ’

Louis read the note three times, smiling more and more as he did so. It was crazy to see how much of a difference one evening had done in their relationship, from the formal way this note was written in to what they had been doing a couple of hours earlier a few feet from where Louis was knelt. He giggled to think of it.

Picking up the doll, Louis carried it to his room, where he forced himself to write a reply to Harry before he went to sleep. After a few minutes, he settled on a simple message: ‘ _I still prefer green eyes. Ought to get a doll with them to keep me company at night. Do you reckon you could help? Will come to see you on the 26th, to your convenience. Yours always, Louis. P.S. I miss you already._ ’

He left the note on his desk to be sent as soon as he woke and got into bed, holding the doll close and smiling as he recalled his birthday ball, images and thoughts of Harry lulling him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> We know this is the second fic we post in a week, but don't have, like, expectations. There's only one of us that writes in English and she's slow. This rhythm is the exception.
> 
> Rebloggable link [here](http://scrunchyharrywrites.tumblr.com/post/101898319314/lead-me-out-on-the-moonlit-floor-in-all-honesty), and we're [scrunchyharry](http://scrunchyharry.tumblr.com) and [beauxbatonslouis](http://beauxbatonslouis.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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